


How to find a bondmate

by window_to_the_soul



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Awkwardness, Communication Failure, M/M, Misunderstandings, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/window_to_the_soul/pseuds/window_to_the_soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock always did things by the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decision

**Author's Note:**

> This plotbunny was sitting in my mind's cage and rattling the bars, so I decided to let it come out and play. What do you all think?

Spock needed a bondmate. After the destruction of his home planet, a bondmate had been the farthest thing on his mind. He had experiments to survey, shifts to work, decisions to make. But after a... difficult conversation with his father he has come to the decision that indeed, having a bondmate to soothe the raw wounds in his mind where his previous bonds had been sounded welcome. To have someone to share the loneliness with. His father had asked he come to the new colony, but seeing as how the last mate that had been chosen for him had tried to get rid of him, Spock came to the conclusion that he had to do it by himself. His father had not approved, and ended the conversation shortly after Spock had told him so.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, relaxing tensed muscle. How to find himself a bondmate... Logic dictated that it be someone aboard the _Enterprise_ since he did not spend much time planetside. Getting up, Spock undressed and prepared for his evening routine. Lighting a candle and placing it in front of the already prepared mat for meditation was calmingly normal. From a cabinet he retrieved his robe, took a moment to simply savor the feeling of the soft cloth on his skin, the way it floated around his ankles when he sat down. Then Spock focused on the candle, its unmoving flame the focus for his endeavor. He remembered reading about how to find a suitable bondmate and on how to court them, but the specifics eluded him. 

"Lights to forty-eight percent," he instructed, and then focused on the fire again. A book... His mother had shown it to him, in a library. With the memory came the smell of old books collected in wooden shelves, the rustling of pages turned and the hushed voices of other nine Vulcans present. He remembered a dark brown cover with intricate script, a promising name, and the low voice of his mother explaining to him what it meant to have a bondmate.

_"Someone who completes you, Spock. A bondmate understands who you are, accepts you with any flaws you might have, admires you despite any mistakes you make. He or she will be there for you always, cherish you, and compliment your every trait..."_

His father had disapproved of her words, and told Spock that a bondmate should know one’s mind, strengthen ones control and be, above all, logical. He or she should embrace the Vulcan way, fit well into the family and uphold his standards. After these words, Spock had wondered why his father had married his mother at all. But this was not what he meant to think about, so he turned his attention towards the book again. His mother had lent it, and Spock had taken it with him to his room to read after he finished his studies. 

The book had contained five steps to follow when one had chosen a bondmate, and had also given criteria on choosing one. Mostly, they coincided with what his father had said: Logical, mental and, if not as important, emotional compatibility were essential. What followed were the steps themselves: 

_No. 1: Prove to your intended that your logic is superior, and, if failing that, that it is as advanced as theirs._

_No. 2: Prove that you can protect your chosen from physical and/or emotional harm._

_No. 3: Prove that your emotional control is sufficient._

_No. 4: Prove that your minds are compatible._

_No. 5: Ask if they want to be your bondmate._

Spock tried to remember the specifics of those steps, but he had been only 5.6 years of age, and it seemed his mental abilities had not been sufficient for the task.

Who on the ship was qualified? There was, of course, the obvious choice, but Spock would not choose a bondmate over such a thing as a simple _feeling_ if there were others to consider that might be a more logical match. There were 5 scientists on board who met the criteria, but Spock was reluctant to consider them. There was the Captain. With a slight shake of his head, Spock pushed that thought aside. All in due time. The scientists were not likely to provide him with emotional stability and he had not talked to them outside of work. They also were his inferiors, and he would not have anybody think he would force somebody to do anything. That narrowed the number of people to choose from to five, all human: Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu and Leonard McCoy. _Or Jim_ , the traitorous part of his mind whispered, _you could choose Jim. Imagine him under you, squirming with need, asking, begging you to take him..._ Sensual images flooded his mind, the Captain naked and shivering, Spock's hands in his golden hair, tugging, pulling his head aside. Biting his strong neck, his shoulders, the taste of Jim's skin. Little, breathless moans falling from soft, warm lips, the body that was held stiff during shift going pliant under his, velvety coolness enveloping him- Spock opened his eyes, appalled at his own lack of concentration. The problem was that James Kirk and Spock were... different. Jim disagreed on every second decision Spock had to make, they could not converse without getting... agitated. They could work together, but outside of their duty had not much in common. They both played chess, and they both liked it quiet after work, and that was that. And yet. Jim was also loyal to everyone he considered his, he was surprisingly empathic, the most intelligent person on the _Enterprise_ and... Spock liked him. But there were others to consider first, logical matches.

Blinking, he focused on the five other people he had deemed logical as bondmates. First, Montgomery Scott. He was exceptionally talented in engineering, but overly emotional. That, and Spock calculated that he would be more interested in a sandwich than Spock's emotional welfare, let alone his logic. He discarded the engineer. Second, Nyota. His relationship with her had been most satisfactory while it lasted, and she fulfilled every need he had adequately. Unfortunately she had ended their relationship 4.2 months ago and was currently involved with one of the nurses in Sickbay. Since it did not affect her duty, Spock had not asked for specifics. Third, Pavel Chekov. Spock shook his head; Chekov was not yet of legal age. Hikaru Sulu. Spock tilted his head. He might be available, and he was not overly emotional. Spock would prefer Jim. Jim smiling at him with sparkling eyes, Jim contemplating something he had said, stealing a Vulcan kiss when nobody looked. Spock's heart rate increased. He could not yet consider Jim. Narrowing his eyes, Spock shook his head again. _No,_ he thought emphatically, _I cannot make a decision based upon a feeling. My father has, it will only end poorly._ His body did not think this a relevant fact, however, if just the mental image of those sky-blue eyes clouded with passion could shoot arousal through his veins. That there was exactly why Jim was probably a Very Bad Idea, he threatened Spock's control with every little gesture he made, every movement of his slender body. He could not always control the urge not to touch Jim, and at the thought of being constantly tempted... Were Spock not Vulcan, he would have shuddered. It was unthinkable having a bondmate able to break ones control so easily. The tiny glimpses he had gotten from Jim's mind had been a whirlwind of emotions, fear, elation, anger, confusion, fierce protectiveness, calm happiness. Jim could, certainly, become a friend over time, but a bondmate... Spock had though he did not need friends; however, his travels with a mostly human crew had proven him wrong. The emotional stability along with the calm serenity they gave him improved his concentration for 5.4% and most conversations with them were stimulating and offered new perspectives on his experiments. He wished to be friends with Jim.

Doctor McCoy was the last option. Spock shuddered involuntarily at the thought of spending more of his life with the grumpy, emotional, worryingly violent Doctor. That left... nobody. But the Captain. Spock steepled his fingers. The Captain... Jim. It would be difficult, even if his conclusion was the only logical one available. No one on the ship could argue that he had used rank to impress Kirk, nobody would so much as consider the possibility that Jim were not with him of his own will. Were he not Vulcan, Spock would have sighed. Before even considering a courtship of Jim, he had to work on his control. Spock calculated a 36.7 minute increase of meditation and an additional hour of sleep would suffice. Maybe then he could overcome his lack of control around Jim. Spock estimated the probability of his endeavor to work to 98.7 percent. So, courting Jim it was.

Spock got up, dressed for the night and went to lie down on his bed. The decision made, Spock had no difficulty sleeping, in fact he slept more soundly than in the three previous weeks. When he awoke for Alpha shift at 0650 hours, he had formed a plan in five steps on how to court James T. Kirk.


	2. Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prove to your chosen that your logic is superior._

James T. Kirk was a very illogical individuum, mostly because he listened to his emotions and let them make the important decisions for him. It was such a different approach to any given problem that Spock 78.43% of the time did not argue with it. It also brought the intended results 67.3% of times. The thing was, while Jim's decision-making process was so completely unlike anything Spock could come up with, he wished to encourage him. Creative thinking was, after all, a positive trait in a future bondmate. The problem was how exactly to prove his own logic to Jim.

Spock was aware that a purely Vulcan approach to the courtship would not lead to the intended outcome. He calculated Jim's need of additional gestures of affection and decided accordingly.

The day after he had made the decision to court James T. Kirk, he started his morning ritual 2.456 minutes earlier in order to join the Captain in the mess hall to have breakfast with him. When he arrived, dressed in his formal science-blue, he found the Captain seated next to Doctor McCoy on a table at the opposite side of the entrance. There were only a small number of crewmembers in the mess hall at the current time. At first, Spock thought the Captain had chosen the table for tactical reasons; it faced three possible emergency exits and he had a clear view of anybody closing in on him and the doctor. However, after monitoring both the Captain's and Doctor McCoy's behavior for 0.23 minutes it became obvious that they had chosen the table for its relative secludedness. Nobody dared approach the Captain. Making his way over to the two, Spock chose a light meal consisting of plomeek soup and a vegetable salad for proper functioning throughout the shift until lunch break at 1200. Spock elected to sit opposite of Jim. The Captain seemed tired; his eyes were not yet fully focused and his hair was in disarray (more so than was common), additionally there was dark color under his eyes due to a lack of sleep. The Captain held a cup of something caffeinated in his right hand, the left was clutching a spoon. Spock knew that Jim often did not sleep well before diplomatic missions such as the one planned for today. In such situations humans required a comment on their state as a reminder that somebody cared for them. It was a gesture of affection and emotional support, not one Spock was accustomed to giving, but an important one for his courtship never the less. He took it upon him to make this comment.

"Captain," he began and stopped when Jim's eyes slowly focused on his face. The blue of them was mesmerizing; Spock could only ever compare it to the terran skies. Still it seemed inaccurate a comparison. And it was, as his mother had once told him, "cliché". Spock slowly set his spoon aside, at an angle of precisely 23.4 degrees from the plate, and continued, "Captain, for optimal functioning, the human body requires at least eight hours of sleep." Jim blinked slowly. Spock was not nervous. Vulcans did not get nervous, therefore, what he was experiencing was mild uncertainty about the reaction to his statement. Had this met Jim's needs? It was, after all, only logical to ensure one's intended's emotional wellbeing.

"It's 0600, Spock," Jim said slowly. His voice was gruff from sleep and Sock suppressed a shiver at the sound. A part of his mind dedicated itself to wondering what the Captain -Jim- might sound after a night of repeated intercourse. It was not an altogether unpleasant thought, being the one to make the Captain sound lazy and a little exhausted.

"I am aware of the current shiptime," Spock answered, not sure why he had been given redundant information. "I was merely pointing out that you have been neglecting your physiological needs. For a Starfleet Captain to be successful it is vital that he pays attention to his own health. I am informing you about this so that you may know how I feel upon the matter, Captain." Satisfied, Spock tilted his head. As Jim's needs were fulfilled now, he could finish his breakfast. 

Doctor McCoy was apparently done with his meal, an empty plate was all that remained in front of him. He rarely was affected by sensitive diplomatic missions as they only required of him to stay alert on board of the _Enterprise_. Thus, he did not require that Spock tell him he "worried". 

"I will see you on the Bridge." Spock collected the rest of his plomeek soup -he found his hunger had abated for unknown reasons now that he had assured his intended that he cared. He wished for some sort of acknowledgement from Jim. It was important that he gathered data on his performance, so he could adapt or improve it accordingly. "Captain?"

"Mh? Oh, yeah. I'll get some sleep eventually, Spock, 's okay," Jim murmured sleepily. Satisfied, Spock nodded. The Captain had understood. He got up and left for the Bridge. His shift did not start for another 10 minutes, but it would be illogical to waste time by aimlessly wandering about the ship as Doctor McCoy would do, so he entered a turbolift.

Usually, Spock did not apply adjectives to the lighting inside of turbolifts. Today, though, he found it almost soothing, the regularity of the shifts in lighting (2 per deck) something of a calming presence, staying ever the same. He had not foreseen that courting Jim would be stressful. His hands held behind his back, Spock exited the lift and relieved the science officer of Gamma shift in order to begin his own shift early. He had, to his knowledge, ever before felt so decidedly unsure of himself than he had in the mess hall, and all he did was eat and converse with Jim. If one could even call it a conversation, Jim had barely answered. A monologue, then. Spock sat down at the science station, examining the findings of Lt. Darwing about a nebula 3.4 light-years from the planet they were orbiting as well as reviewing the data available on Tre-Wahs, a class M planet with stable atmosphere and sensitive inhabitants. Only the smallest part of his brain and his concentration were necessary for the task. 

Spock found, despite him not being close physically, Jim was on his mind. Briefly he considered researching whether it was common to think that much about one's chosen bondmate, but he remembered his father taking comm calls around midnight (between 1130 and 0201 hours three times of the week) in order to satisfy his mother's need for emotional closeness and assurances that his physical wellbeing was ensured. Spock wondered what Jim would think about him at this precise moment, even if it was impossible to find out and illogical at best. Spock wanted to know... things about Jim Kirk. What he thought of Spock, what would satisfy him, what would make Jim "happy". It was important that he gathered all relevant data to courting. Maybe later he could ask Nyota for advice as her knowledge and experience in the matter was greater than his own. What he did not know about Jim his mind procured images of. Imagining was not something a Vulcan was supposed to do. He decided to meditate upon the matter later, after he had found a possibility to prove his logic to Jim so he would learn that he was being courted.

This did not mean he could neglect his duties as a First Officer, of course. Therefore, when Jim strode on the Bridge with a wide, if lopsided, grin, Spock got up and waited to be summoned to the Captain's chair.

"Spock, what's our status?" Jim promptly asked, and Spock moved to stand 30 cm behind Jim and 20 to his left while informing the Captain of the findings of the Gamma shift personnel. From where he was standing he could smell Jim. The soap he used, a replicated item with the fragrance of chamomile, the cleaning agent on his shirt -a little sour a smell for his keen sense of smelling, and underneath something that Spock always associated with the man himself, an indescribable scent that made Spock want to crawl under Jim's skin and make himself at home there.

"Thanks," Jim nodded after he had finished his report and clapped him on the shoulder. Spock, unprepared as he was for the sudden contact, stiffened at the mental transfer occurring. Too powerful for his shields to block, the Vulcan felt Jim's tiredness as a dizzying surge, followed by gladness. He was unsure of the source of the latter feeling, but it was nonetheless intense. The glimpses of Jim's mind Spock would sometimes get made him want to see even more of it. Tactical by nature, Jim had either forgotten or simply did not care that Vulcans were touch-telepaths and that Spock was therefore able to glean fragments and collect them for later observation. Spock wished to remain this close to the Captain, to see the tensing and relaxing of his muscles when he shifted in the seat or to get another glimpse of the beautiful chaos in his head but found no logical reason to do so and forced himself to return to his station. "We'll orbit the planet until 1600, then we'll meet a delegation of the Tre-Wahsis in their capital." Jim's voice washed like a swift breeze over Spock's ears. He blinked at the unlikely comparison his unoccupied mind had come up with. Spock had come to like Jim's voice with all its inflections and the emotions it carried over the past months spent with the Captain. It was fascinating, the way Spock could tell what he felt without needing to see his mind.

The shift seemed to take longer than usual, though it lasted no longer than the eight hours it was supposed to. Spock found himself unable to give his research his undivided attention; more often than not he would listen to Jim's voice and listen to the rustling of his clothes when he would adjust his position. That, and Spock was waiting for an opportunity to prove his logic to Jim. This far, none of Jim's decision warranted his intervention. The lack of sleep apparently did not negatively influence Jim's ability to command a starship (as was only logical, a captain who could not function under a little pressure was unfit for command). Additionally, Spock found that the perspiration on his hands was increased and his heartbeat a little faster than on normal days. Spock was neither tired nor under any significant pressure, thus it stood to reason that this was because he had not had enough breakfast, even though he felt no acute sense of hunger.

"I'll take Sulu and Chekov down with me," Jim announced 3.05 minutes before Spock's shift was due to end. The Vulcan blinked and turned around. This was the moment he had waited for, the opportunity to prove his logic to Jim.

"With all due respect, Captain," Spock said, then cleared his throat. His voice had sounded... off, a little deeper than usual and had almost broken on Jim's title. He would not allow it to continue. Regulating ones bodily reactions was the first lesson young Vulcans learned. He inhaled deeply and continued, "the Ter-Wahsis are prone to bursts of violence when not enough of the senior command team was present, as indicated in the report of Captain Hemingway of the _U.S.S. Potemkin_. While Lt. Sulu and Chekov certainly are senior crew, I would never the less suggest you take Lt. Uhura and Doctor McCoy with you. In the past, the Ter-Wahsis have shown considerable respect for medical personnel and Lt. Uhura has studied their language for three semesters at Starfleet Academy. With her superior knowledge, eventual misunderstandings could be prevented." The speech had been a little halted, with breaks where there was supposed to be none, but it could not be helped. Spock would meditate upon the matter in 55 seconds and increase his control over his body.

The Captain was staring at him, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. There was an unmistakable pink blush on his cheeks and Spock heard his heart skip a beat and then double its pace. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and he allowed a minor shift. The Captain had understood and seen the gesture. Hopefully he was now aware that Spock wanted to court him. "I will be in my quarters should you require additional information," Spock finished, inclined his head and left the Bridge, aware that most of the crew was following him with their gazes.

~l~

Jim stared at Spock's back. He felt his cheeks color and his heart thundered against his ribs in embarrassment.

"What the _hell_?" he exclaimed, echoing the thoughts of the rest of his crew. What had that been all about? The fuck?!

"That was harsh, even for Spock," Sulu said. "Have you done anything to him?" Jim shook his head, wondering why he had been treated like a cadet on an exam. Spock's behavior had been off all day, and now this... First he had joined him and Bones for breakfast. Not that Jim would complain about that, seeing his XO first thing on a day was certainly pleasant -all that muscle moving swiftly under a snug blue shirt, along with Spock's elegant posture made Jim's mouth water. But then Spock had opened his mouth and out came another criticism. All his beauty ruined by that sharp tongue of his. Working with Spock was a challenge, but Jim would not back down. He had thought they could at least work together now and maybe form a friendship at some point, but Spock obviously didn't think so. The green-blooded idiot was all nice and friendly one day, only to crush all of Jim's hopes the next under his neat soles and with three times the strength of a human.

"Not that I know of," Jim muttered. "Have only seen him for, like, ten minutes. Not enough time for me to piss him off, considering I was only half awake."

It was all older Spock's fault, anyway. Jim had seen bits and pieces of an epic "friendship" (Jim snorted -since when did "friendship" involve naked bodies and a shared mind?) during the mind meld on Delta Vega in the other's memories, a sense of understanding and acceptance. He wanted to have something like that, too, and when Jim woke up at night longing for Spock's presence to hold him and help him through the nightmares of Tarsus IV, well, then that was his own problem.

Still, he had thought they were getting there. In his book, the not-shouting-at each other at least once a day was a win. And now this. The worst part was that Spock was bloody _right_. It _would_ be smarter to take Bones and Uhura down to the planet. He just wished Spock would not have stood there like a disappointed parent and lecture him. Couldn't have said it nicely now, could he? 

The others seemed to agree with him, even Uhura, which was even more unusual than Spock's behavior. When the signal from the delegation came through, Jim sighed. There was enough time to figure Spock's problem out after he had secured a new contract on mining rights for the Federation.


	3. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prove that you can protect your chosen from physical and/or emotional harm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I feel for Jim. That, or I just want to write him kissing Spock already!
> 
> EDIT: Changed the paperwork-part, because it was awful. Better now?

There could be, in Spock's opinion, no doubt that he protected his captain physically. The conflicts they encountered on the planets they visited ended in mortal peril 78.9% of all times, and always, always had Spock been close to Captain Kirk. He could not always prevent injuries on Jim's part, but as he was no machine and thus not perfect, these instances could be forgotten. The true question was, could he protect Jim emotionally? From other people hurting him not with actions, but words?

Spock concluded that he needed to know what would harm the Captain in the first place. He was unsure as to how he was to gather the relevant data. More time spent with the Captain outside of duty was necessary, so one day when Jim was about to leave the Bridge after a particularly demanding shift (Klingons, what else?) he stopped him with an arm on his humeroradial joint.

"Captain?" he asked calmly, even though he felt anything but. Were Jim to decline he would have to talk to Doctor McCoy about the issue, and conversation with the Chief Medical Officer always left him slightly frustrated. Jim looked first at the hand upon him and then up at Spock's face with a curious expression. His eyes were widened a fraction and his pupils dilated -in surprise or pleasure, Spock could not say-, his jawline was slack. Jim tilted his head a little to the left.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"I have come to understand that you play chess. Would you be available for a match at 2100?" Apologetic, Jim shook his head.

"Sorry, Spock, but today's shoreleave and I promised Bones that I'd go down to a pub with him. Maybe another time?" Spock considered the offer. Clearly Jim was inclined to play with Spock, which was undoubtedly a positive development, on the other hand Spock felt... disappointed. He realized that he would have enjoyed testing his skills against Jim. And it might even have improved Jim's logic. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face despite his Vulcan control, because Jim clasped the hand on his arm and smiled. At the touch, a jolt of emotions rushed through Spock, unfiltered and unorganized, a wild mixture of _joywantregret_.

"You know," Jim offered, "you could always come along." Spock was curious as to what had inspired this offer. He had not once gone down to a planet for shoreleave, preferring to work on or monitor experiments while the others indulged in illogical activities. But, nevertheless, the idea was not without merit. At a "pub" he could observe Jim in a situation where he would be relaxed, unguarded and more likely to reveal information about himself. That, and there was always the possibility that he might try and get himself hurt(not that much trying on Jim's part was necessary for him to get into potentially dangerous situations). So Spock nodded and was rewarded with a look of stunned disbelief and a faint hint of pink coloring Jim's cheeks. "What, really? You'll come?"

"Yes, Captain. I will, indeed, come," Spock confirmed. To his surprise, Jim blushed even harder, red now rushing along his throat and disappearing down his shirt.

"That's -ah- great, Spock. Yeah, uhm, I'll see you later, okay?" Spinning around Jim left for the turbolift, leaving Spock amused if slightly confused. What had that been all about...?

Which was why Spock was currently sitting on a high barstool in a darkened establishment listening to Doctor McCoy ranting about something he had absolutely no interest in. But as the good doctor was also inebriated and did not seem to need any sort of acknowledgement on Spock's part, it was bearable. It was loud in the "pub" Jim and the CMO had chosen, music blaring from various speakers throughout the small room, playing an odd mixture of alien tunes Spock found rather irritating. But the noise and Doctor McCoy he could have accepted if he got to learn what would hurt the Captain emotionally. Unfortunately, this seemed impossible. Every 0.6 minutes another individual of questionable intent brushed past him and by now the Vulcan was so distracted by all the feelings banging against his mental shields that he almost did not notice Jim talking to... an Orion. _Of course it is an Orion_ , Spock thought annoyed. The whole room was flooded with their pheromones and Jim was already high on them. 

Spock was unsure as to why Doctor McCoy was unaffected (but it was possible that the amount of alcohol he had consumed in the 45 minutes they have spent here played a major role) but Jim was hopelessly caught. Even his natural smell, a mixture of the soap he used, sweat, grease from the _Enterprise_ and something else was overlain with the sharp tang of arousal. It was somewhat distracting to Spock, who himself remained blissfully unaffected, that his chosen was emitting this scent in reaction to a female stranger.The Orion was what would be considered beautiful on most planets of the federation, and obviously so. Her features were ven, and the light that danced across her clean, green skin made her look not unlike an emerald. Spock clenched and unclenched his fist around a glass of some cocktail or another Jim had bought for him upon their arrival in annoyance (also partly due to the fact that he was unable to _stop_ clenching and unclenching his fist. Where was his control when he needed it?). 

"Hey sweetie, you here alone?" the Orion female asked Jim, who looked at her without seeing, wide-eyed and unfocused. Dazedly, Jim nodded. A wide, dopey grin spread slowly on his lips and he opened his mouth in reply, no doubt an affiramtive or an aswer to the female's flirting. That Spock chose not to engage in such an activity did not mean he could not recognize it in others, and it did not bode well for his evening. This would absolutely not do. Spock straightened in his chair next to Jim, and put a possessive hand on his shoulder. During a memorable if a little awkward conversation Spock had learned that Jim very much did not like what humans referred to as "casual sex". For Vulcans, of course, there was no such thing, but humans were sometimes somewhat... fickle. So if Spock would let Jim go off and have said "casual sex" with this Orion female, Jim would, undoubtedly, come to some emotional harm. Jim did not seem to notice Spock's hand, but he unconciously closer to Spock (which gave him a rush of rather primal satisfaction). And Spock had to protect him, so he told the female, "He does not "do casual", and as you are not intending to marry this man, I suggest you leave now." For emphasis, he lowered his shields a fraction to show the Orion that he would back this statement up with violence if necessary. Usually, Spock would not hurt a female, but in this case she was a rival, and Spock had to chase her off. He would _not_ let a random stranger have Jim. Not anymore. 

Her smile wobbling a little, the Orion turned to Spock. She was barely even dressed; her shirt not entirely concealing her breasts and her skirt just about covered her modesty. "Why don't you let him decide that, hm?"

"Because Jim is in no position to make a decision based on all facts available to him. He is, as you surely must know, high on the pheromones polluting the air in this establishment. _Furthermore_ ," he added in Orion, a language he knew Jim did not speak, " _he is my chosen. You will not talk to him again._ " Her expressive brown eyes went wide.

"Uh, oh, I mean, I'm sorry. You should have said so!" With a blinding smile to Jim, she hurriedly left.

"Hey, what'd you do tha' fooor?" Jim asked, slurring. "Sh'was nishe."

"I am sure you believe that," Spock told Jim. "I would like to leave now, Jim. It is time that we returned to our ship." He suddenly, desperately needed to get Jim out of this place. Most of the females and some of the males were looking at Jim as if they wanted to eat him alive, and Spock felt wholly unprepared. Of course he knew, on a metaphorical level, that Jim was attractive to many species. But having it confirmed in this way... He needed to get him out of here. To some place where Spock could figure out what to do about all of this. His heart hammered in his side. 

Grabbing Jim with a little more force than necessary, he dragged Jim out of the "pub". The clean night air helped Spock's whirling thoughts a little, and he slowed down. For a while, he paced in front of the"pub", all the while not letting go of Jim's wrist. It felt as if he could not even if he were inclined to try, which Spock was decidedly not. He would keep Jim with him. Slowing down and finally coming to a halt about 10 feet from the entrance of the establishment they had just exited, as it turned out, had not been good thinking on his part, because Jim slumped against him. Normally, this would not have presented an issue -Jim's weight was negligible to the Vulcan- but not only was Jim leaning against Spock, he was also... groping his behind.

"Jim," Spock said in a strained voice, "please desist." He thought of the other people in the "pub" eyeing Jim, and was glad he had not let the Captain go with any of them. The thought of Jim behaving inappropriately with anyone that was not him made Spock rather furious. He wondered what happened to his control this evening, but everything was so out of his day-to-day experiences that he found he could not maintain all of it. But Jim did either not understand or not care. His hot breath ghosted over Spock's ear, and the Vulcan shuddered involuntarily. Jim usually was cold to him, but tonight... When Jim fitted his face against Spock's neck, he couldn't help the sound that escaped him. _NeedwantwantwantneednowpleaseSpockplease_ rushed through him. At least Jim knew who he was with. Spock blinked. That should not have been his priority. He could and would not engage in intercourse with Jim now. They were not in that stage of their relationship yet-Jim could not even remember that he was being courted, and he was clearly still high. 

"Jim," Spock repeated, but broke off when Jim pressed an open mouthed kiss against his neck. Spock could not think with all those emotions flying against his shields, could not focus on walking -he could not even comm Mr. Scott, or Jim would tumble to the ground. 

"Hmm..." The Captain made a happy noise against Spock's pulse point, which spiked, and then thundered with double its normal speed. Jim's hands were at his hips, drawing lazy circles with his thumbs just above the bone. Spock tried to think past _Good_ and _More_ but the need that had started low in his belly made concentration increasingly difficult.

"Jim," he tried again. "We can't..." He swallowed thickly, and Jim looked up at him. Pale moonlight colored his skin ghostly white, but his eyes, huge and blue, pupils blown wide, glittered with something Spock dared not name. "Jim," he whispered, took his captain's chin in one hand, tilted his head farther back and pressed his lips to Jim's. Pleasure seared through Spock's brain, short-circuiting any thought he may have had left. With a growl, he forced Jim's soft, plush lips apart, thrusting his tongue into the cool sweetness of his mouth. His other hand tangled in Jim's golden hair, forcing his head farther back to have better access. Jim moaned something against his lips, reciprocating eagerly. Spock wanted to howl his pleasure out, wanted Jim closer, closer, _closer_. He pulled the captain flush against him, enjoying the feeling of muscles tensing and flexing under their cover, never once breaking their kiss. Jim tasted even better than he smelled, faintly of the alcohol he had consumed but indefinitely better, sweeter, more human than Spock could have ever imagined. When Jim finally broke away for air, Spock found that he could not abandon his skin, so he sucked a line from his lips to his jaw and throat. The fluttering pulse he encountered there, elevated and exhilarated, found his approval, Spock growled again and bit the skin there, leaving a mark. Jim made a sound deep in his throat, needy, wanting, craving.

"Spock?" With a start, Spock came back to his senses. In the doorway of the pub stood Doctor McCoy, swaying on his legs and squinting into the darkness. It was impossible that he should have seen what Spock had been doing, and he hoped that the Doctor would either not hear Jim's disapproving groan or not remember it come morning. Spock felt heat color his cheeks. Only McCoy's timely intervention had stopped him from doing... he was not sure what he would have done, exactly, but he was very sure it would have been inappropriate.

"Ye-" he cleared his throat, "yes, Doctor McCoy?"

"Where'sss... whwe'ss Jim?" Doctor McCoy slurred.

"The Captain is with me," Spock informed him, "I am escorting him back to the _Enterprise_." Doctor McCoy nodded to this.

"Okayyyy, tha'zz good. Vewy good, Spock. You... take care of'im, yeah?" 

"I will," Spock answered and dragged the complaining Jim back towards the ship. 

Being back aboard presented a whole new issue: He could not leave Jim alone in his current state. Though he doubted that anybody of the crew would take advantage, it was not unheard of that the Captain himself would be... overly flirty. Wonderful. Allowing himself a wry smile, he dragged Jim back to his own quarters. He needed Jim to get sober, and fast. Or else... Jim looked good in his quarters, and, as he flopped down on Spock's bed, even better. His hair was rumpled and his clothes wrinkled, dark denim clinging to his long legs and shapely behind, and Spock really needed to stop staring. His skin was flushed and from this angle Spock could just make out the mark he had left with his teeth. He swallowed. He needed to not only distract Jim (who was trying to get up and his hands back on Spock), but also himself (lest he allow this).

What could be boring enough to distract the Captain and himself...? 

"Captain," Spock said, sternly. "There is paperwork you need to do." And he handed Jim a stack of paper, just as he had gotten close enough to try and kiss him again. Jim groaned.

"Really?" he asked, disappointed. "There's so much else we could be doing..." Jim's voice dropped to a sexy timbre, a little slurred and raspy. Spock could not allow himself to look into Jim's eyes, so instead he focused on the wall beyond the Captain's left ear.

"Yes, Captain, though there might be, this is the mission report from yesterday that needs going over, here are two complaints from Engineering and you also need to check the payroll." He fought to keep his voice even. Jim frowned, tilted his head and leaned into Spock's personal space.

"Can't we do it tomorrow? There's this lovely bed over there..." he whispered, his breath still smelling of the Orion pheromones. 

"No, Captain, we cannot," Spock ground out. 

"Oh, Spock, C'mon...!" Both of Jim's hands were on his shoulders, the papers thrown carelessly over onto his bed, attempting to pull him close. The Captain was openly staring at Spock's lips. Self-consciously, he licked them (a nervous gesture he should have been able to surpress. Control!). Spock stood rigid, hands firmly clasped behind his back. He could not allow this to go on. But Jim was stubborn...

"If you still want to... engage in other activities after you have finished all of your paperwork, we may do so," Spock heard himself offer. He was not exactly sure how this idea had gotten past his lips without making it to his brain first, but at least Jim listened to it.

" _Fine_ ," Jim muttered, annoyed. Spinning around, he flopped himself down onto his bed and started reading. For a moment, Spock closed his eyes, thankful for the shroud of control he had left. By the time Jim would be done with the amount of paperwork there was, his system would be rid of the pheromones. Spock sat down on Jim's desk, his mind reeling with the emotions Jim had thrown at him all evening. With a deep inhale, he immersed himself in paperwork.

For a while, Spock was working quietly, undisturbed by the rustling of paper behind him and the occasional disappointed groan, then there was silence. When Spock finally turned around to check on the Captain, he was fast asleep, expression relaxed. A hint of a smile danced around his lips. Spock had never been so relieved (or so disappointed) in his whole life.

~l~

Jim woke with the world's worst hangover _ever_. It was as if a freight train'd hit him on the head after a herd of elephants had used it as a trampoline. In addition, the dream he had had was... embarrassing, to say the least. So he did the only thing he could think of: he dragged his tired feet and hurting head -along with no small amount of confusion- down to medbay and told Bones all about it.

"I swear Spock hates me," he said, whining a little. "You said he took me back, but instead of making me sleep or whatever, he _made me do paperwork_. I'm not kidding, Bones! I woke up with the payroll glued to my face," he grumbled when the doctor lifted an eyebrow. "I was high as a kite, and Spock made me do paperwork! Something about work that needs to be done. Bullshit, if you ask me. He just wants to torture me for not being a logical Vulcan. We're never taking him on shoreleave with us ever again, Bones!"

"It was your idea to begin with, Jimbo," Bones sighed. "You sure that's all that's bothering you? 'Cause I could swear that..." He tilted his head. "He didn't give you anything strange to drink, or messed with your head, did he?" 

"No," Jim shook his head. At least some things never changed: Bones was worried and distrustful. Steady, dependable. Whereas Spock was just confusing as hell at the moment. "I had this really weird dream, Bones. I thought I was standing somewhere, maybe in my cabin, I dunno, but Spock was there, and he pulled my head back and _kissed_ me."

"Bleugh!" Bones made a face. "Don't say stuff like that, Jim! That's... just no." He shook his head. "Here," and he pushed a hypo into Jim's neck, "take your medicine and leave my medbay with your strange dreams. Kissing the hobgoblin..." he muttered darkly.

Feeling better already, Jim left and went to the hall for breakfast. This early in the morning it was almost empty, with only a few early birds nursing their hangovers quietly. After not even five minutes, Uhura sat down next to him.

"Congrats," she said, smiling warmly. She of course looked as perfectly happy as ever, hangover-free and well-rested. Jim contemplaited sulking.

"For what?" Jim wanted to know. He hadn't done anything to merit congratulations, had he? Uhura lifted an eyebrow.

"Spock, naturally." She said it with such calm confidence that it threw Jim. He inhaled a few breadcrumbs.

"What about Spock?" he wanted to know, coughing and blushing like a damned virgin. It wasn't _his_ fault that her words made him think of that dream! Spock's lips against his had felt heavenly real, but... yeah, no. Spock would never do that, and he certainly wouldn't _growl_. The thought sent a hastily suppressed shiver down Jim's spine.

"He's courting you, idiot," Uhura answered. Again, Jim inhaled something that was certainly not air. After an embarrassing amount of wheezing, he managed another "What?!" Uhura frowned.

"He's courting you."

"No, he really, really isn't," Jim argued. "He's griping about my commands, annoying me, making me do paperwork instead of, I dunno, sleeping off the high I've been on yesterday, but he sure as hell isn't _courting_ me. That's ridiculous." Uhura granted him a small smile.

"If you say so," she answered, got up and left the table with her mostly untouched tablet to sit with Scotty. Jim really wished he hadn't bothered getting up at all. As if to mock him, Spock chose this exact moment to wander into the mess, pristine and calmly as ever, chose some bland, disgustingly orange soup and sat down opposite Jim. "Captain. How was your night?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, confused Jim...
> 
> Did I mention that I love comments and kudos? Thanks for those who left me some!


	4. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prove that your emotional control is sufficient._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jim, this chapter is not gonna be easy for him. Spock just wants to do right by him, after all!

Jim was testing Spock's control. It was the only explanation that fit all the facts, and Spock had not ever felt quite so relieved. After the fiasco that had been the previous night, he had feared (and damned his lack of control for the cold, dreadful feeling) that Jim would want him to discontinue the courtship. The breakfast had seemingly confirmed this thesis, but now... At first, Spock had thought he was just seeing what he wanted to. After all, it was only logical to desire the affection of one's intended bondmate. But the facts he had collected over the turn of three hours indicated the opposite. That Jim was willing to give him a second chance by testing him.

The Captain would smile at him more often than was usual and Spock had to fight actively in order not to allow the lifting of the corners of his own mouth in return. Jim would ask for his opinion two times more often than Spock knew he actually needed it. He made sure to keep his answers short and to the point. During lunch break, the Captain was sitting 2.2 inches closer to him than was his habit and occasionally brushed his shoulder, his arm or hand. This last was almost indecent, but Jim made sure not to be too obvious about it. And every little touch, every not-quite caress sent Spock's senses to overdrive. He felt Jim's happiness at being close in his heart, could hear the silent longing thrumming through his captain's veins and knew that his own body mirrored Jim's reactions. But he fought the urges to reciprocate down, glad for the strict training he had undergone on Vulcan, or Jim would by now be bent over the white table in the Mess Hall and Spock would be pounding into him with abandon. The Vulcan averted his eyes from his captain for a second to focus inward and suppress the automatic reaction to the thought of Jim naked, begging him to be taken... Only a tightening of his jawline betrayed his struggle. He hoped Jim had not seen it, or he might still decide that he did not want a man with so little control.

The rest of his shift Jim started talking to him. Spock blinked on several occasions at the strange wording, not being accustomed to this kind of... flirting? But surely Jim did not do it on purpose. Wasting time on a shift with silly wording was, after all, unprofessional. Then again, he might just be testing his control still, even after he had proved he could manage. Whatever his reasons, Spock tried to stay as calm as possible through it all.

"Spock? Spock!" He lifted his gaze from the nova he had been staring at, unseeing. Mind reeling with emotions, both his own and an echo of Jim's. Fortunately, for the last half hour Jim had been nothing but professional. It seemed he was satisfied with Spock's performance. Perhaps he would allow a game of chess later?

"Captain?" Had Jim spoken to him?

"I wanted to know whether you would assist me with this growing problem after the shift." Jim's cheeks were uncharacteristically pink at his words, and Spock wondered for a moment if his chosen one could be ill. But no, surely Doctor McCoy would have him confined in his quarters if he were contagious. He narrowed his eyes. Jim's words made no discernable sense. A growing problem...? What growing problem? And why not deal with it immediately? For a second Spock thought he had managed to overlook something vital, but then there were the elevated heart rate of his Captain, and the hastily muffled laughter from Uhura. No, no urgent problem, then. A joke, perhaps?

"I beg your pardon?" Spock asked, unsure how to respond. Jim flushed a lovely shade of crimson, coughed and averted his eyes. 

"Uh, nothing, sorry." And now the Captain was resolutely staring ahead at the viewscreen. Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"I am unsure as to why you would feel the need to apologize, Captain. I am just unaware of the problem you were talking about. If you could please elaborate?" The Captain turned and stared at him, eyes wide, pupils blown. Spock inhaled softly to a scent of arousal. But what had caused it? Jim blinked at him. _Surprised_ , Spock thought, _but about what?_ Then he seemed to reach a conclusion, and grinned. Spock could hear Jim's heart rate triple from where he was sitting, so whatever it was, it must be either terrifying or thrilling.

"You see, there's this malfunction you caused, and I wondered if you could assist me in getting rid of it. In my rooms." Spock became aware that the bridge crew was staring at them with rapt attention. Specifically, at Jim. Spock could not recall having caused any malfunction, least of all close to Jim's quarters. Confusion was not a pleasant sensation as it made him feel rather inadequate. What, in Surak's name, _was Jim talking about_? Spock settled for honesty in the end. 

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Captain."

~l~

Never once in his life had Jim been more embarrassed. At first, he had thought that maybe Spock did just not know what flirting was, and had upped the ante. Had even touched Spock's hands, even though he knew it was Vulcan kissing. And Spock had not pulled away, so he had thought that he might just be interested. But this last one? He had all but invited Spock to his quarters for a roll in the hay, and the Vulcan... either was completely oblivious or, and the latter was, unfortunately, far more likely, just not interested and too polite to flat out say so.

"Never mind," he said, hating the strangled sound of his voice. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Spock was not interested. For all Jim knew, he might be completely asexual and had never done more than sneaky Vulcan-kissing with Uhura. Spock just lifted an eyebrow and turned back to his station. And Jim had really thought Spock had gotten the last line he'd delivered and asked for clarification as some sort of kink... Jim felt his cheeks heat and wished the floor would just swallow him up. Right now, if you please. The looks of the rest of the crew on him were felt acutely, and this one time the Captain really, really wished they'd have better things to do than stare at him pityingly. Why were there never Klingons when you needed them?

After the shift, he felt the bridge as fast as he could, not once looking back. Uhura found him eventually in his quarters, alone and feeling mighty sorry for himself.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but-"

"Not your fault," he muttered. He wasn't angry at her, not really. Mostly he was pissed at himself for getting his hopes up in the first place.

"No, really. Here, drink a little with me." Uhura sat down on his bed next to him, the door swishing closed behind her and handed him a glass filled with an amber liquid. He downed the glass with one swig, grimacing at the burning sensation in the back of his throat. "I really thought Spock would be flirting. Sorry." She emptied her glass, too.

"Again, not your fault."

"It's just, you have been pining for so long now! And Spock is just too oblivious for his own good sometimes." She shook her head and her pony tail tapped his shoulder.

"I know," Jim sighed. "At first, I thought he'd respond, but that last comment on the Bridge... he could've let me down friendlier, at least. I just hope I didn't ruin our friendship..." The thought of losing Spock was unbearable. He had been in love for a while now and might have never taken another step, but then yesterday there had been the drunk... whatever it was, and Spock had carried him back, and Uhura had said he were flirting and it all had just been in Jim's head. He hung his head in shame. Either Spock would hate him now, or he would be completely and utterly confused. Jim might have just as well insulted his mother again. "At least he didn't try to strangle me this time." A wry smile ghosted over his lips, before he drowned another glass and waited for the alcohol to have an impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you think? Comments and kudos are, as you know, love! And I'll hand out sehlat puppies (maybe) ;)


	5. My mind to your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prove that your minds are compatible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but thist one just wouldn't turn out the way I wanted it to. Hope it works this way, for I, personally, like it!

The Captain was hung-over. Spock was unsure of the reason for this development -there had been no party he was aware of, and the Captain usually did not indulge in pointless intake of alcoholic beverages. It was, indeed, rather... odd. Though when asked, Jim only gave monosyllabic answers or completely avoided the question. So all the Vulcan was left with was logic. What did he know about Jim's habits when it came to alcohol? One, he liked to drink when a crewmember died in order to forget their passing away. Two, Jim consumed alcoholic beverages when in an establishment of dubious morals and/or a pub. This was usually done to relieve stress. And third, Jim drank on anniversaries and other festivities taking place aboard their starship. Spock understood it was done when humans felt happy or the need to be more courageous.

He sat down in his chair and started monitoring the black void that was the universe, studying the stars and suns in the quadrant they were patrolling while ignoring the rest of the crew talking quietly amongst themselves. The Captain, he noticed, too, was quiet but would look at Communications Officer Uhura approximately every 2.34 minutes. Now, which of the former points could be applied to Jim's current situation? In the last mission planetside, nobody had died. Furthermore Jim usually extended an invitation towards him when he was distraught. Spock felt an odd warm flutter in his side at the thought that he could calm his Captain's often confusing and overwhelming feelings.

There was no need to relieve stress, except when one counted Spock's advances as particularly trying to Jim's patience. This was unlikely, but possibly worth reconsidering later. So, this left anniversaries or festivities. Was there some terran custom that he had forgotten about? Christmas? Valentine's Day? Spock shook his head imperceptibly. Negative. He tilted his head a fraction. It was, however, a fact that at these occasions humans would consume alcohol because they were feeling... content. It was entirely possible that his Captain welcomed his courting and that it made him happy, thus prompting him to drink large quantities of alcohol. Yes, Spock reasoned, that sounded logical. It also intensified the flutter in his heart, but he could take care of that later. It was, after all, to be expected that some feeling would occur when seeing their Chosen happy.

This also meant it was time to move onto the second to last step. Now, with another Vulcan it would not have been a problem to show mental compatibility. After all only a short surface mindmeld was necessary in order to observe a similarity in thought patterns. While this approach would work for Spock himself just fine, Jim was human and thus psy-null. He would not benefit from a mindmeld in the least, in fact there was a 0.2 % possibility that it might prove detrimental to his mental health. For a while, the Vulcan contemplated this particular problem without finding a feasible solution.

It was Jim himself who (after the lunch break and a shot from Doctor McCoy) finally came up with something, but he remained blissfully unaware of the straightening of Spock's posture and the spark of an idea in his mind.

"I swear," Jim said with a smile that made the corners Spock's mouth twitch in an attempt to mirror the gesture, "it gives me the beejees that you two can just complete each other’s sentences like that!" He grinned at Chekov and Sulu, both working on a solution for the problem of interstellar movement while camouflaging their ship and tossing ideas to each other. If Spock were inclined to use human idioms, he would have compared it to a rapid match of table tennis. "Are you sure neither of you guys is secretly Vulcan?" He then turned towards Spock, who was lifting an eyebrow inquiringly. "You guys have that thing where you touch people to read their minds, right?" Pleased that his Jim had actually paid attention to what Spock had told him a while ago, he nodded, "Indeed."

Spock noted an increase in body temperature in both Lt Sulu and Ensign Chekov, resulting in heightened blood pressure in their cheeks and necks. As Jim would say: They were blushing like mad. Ensign Chekov even went so far as to wave his hands about and make apologies for it, which prompted Captain Kirk to laugh amusedly. Instantly, Spock wished he were the source of this sound. Allowing a miniature frown to mar his forehead, he wondered what had caused this stray thought to make itself known. Naturally, it was a good thing that his Jim could find amusement even while working, but what was unacceptable was Spock's less than friendly feeling towards Chekov who had caused the emotional outburst. Wanting to make Jim happy the Vulcan understood, it was logical to have a content bondmate and important for one's mental health. The surprise was his wish to be the only reason for Jim's laughter and the foreign urge to cause Chekov harm for being the one to make it happen instead. This warranted deeper meditation later in his quarters, and also maybe a talk with Uhura. She might be able to help with all those feelings he had recently. It was starting to be a tad... annoying.

At least he now knew a way to make their mental compatibility known to Jim. Apparently, humans who understood each other instinctually would (rudely, he found) interrupt each other's sentences in order to demonstrate their knowledge about each other by ending aforementioned sentence. Interesting.

To accomplish his new mission, Spock needed to pay more attention to his Captain. His work did not require too much of his attention at the current time, seeing as it was an already mapped quadrant and he only needed to look out for unfamiliar ships or suspicious movements on planets. It made watching Jim easier than he would have thought. 

Jim was sitting in his captain's chair, hands playing idly with his PADD while his eyes rested on the viewscreen. Were they planetside, Spock would have called Jim's attention to celestial bodies stargazing. He liked the way the harsh light of the Bridge made Jim's features look softer than they were, eyes glittering with curiosity, while his posture remained relaxed. It was a deceiving look on Jim, Spock knew: The captain would look as docile as a young terran feline while somebody threatened to murder his crew and shoot his ship, but when actions followed, he would reveal a deadly determination and physical prowess only 43 % of their enemies expected. 

For the time being, though, Jim was calm and content; a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Occasionally, he would look over at Spock, though when the Vulcan attempted to meet his gaze, Jim averted his eyes and the smile would disappear to leave behind an expression Spock found hard to read. While anatomically, his Captain was still smiling, his eyes turned a darker shade of blue and his fingers tensed (not enough to turn into fists, but to Spock, the twitch was enough to tell that he wanted to), he clenched his jaw and then -and this was what Spock found the most curious- he would tilt his head back and to the side a fraction, as if exposing his throat. And looked away. The signs were conflicting: while the darker eyes and exposed throat would be signs of (unknowing) desire or arousal, a clenched jaw and fists in humans usually signaled the intention to either react violently or start crying. Spock did not know what to make of it, and without touching his Jim he could not figure out his reasons. 

As it was, Spock was almost relieved when the shift and with it, the awkward silence, ended. He made his way over to the captain's chair and decided that he should probably try and put his plan to action now.

"Captain?" he inquired, and Jim looked up at him.

"Yeah? What's up, Spock?" The Vulcan resisted the urge to reply "The ceiling, obviously"; it would not help him achieve his goal.

"I think it would be advantageous for our relationship to share food this evening. As I understand it, this is done by humans to show a certain familiarity?" Jim frowned at him.

"You want to have dinner together?" Spock did not understand why Jim would need clarification on the matter, but would gladly give it.

"Indeed, Captain, this is what I asked." The Captain scratched his neck -a nervous gesture.

"Why do you-?"

"-want that?" Spock completed. This would be easier than anticipated if Jim kept asking obvious questions. "I recall Doctor McCoy saying something about it being an important part of human culture, something I ought to understand better. Of course, this is not the only reason for my request, but it would not be prudent to discuss other aspects of this decision in public. If you, however, truly wish to know, you may inquire about it in private when you feel like it." Jim lifted an eyebrow.

"Did you just invite me to your quarters after dinner?" Spock inclined his head, unsure as to why Jim needed all that repetition. Had he not made his intentions clear? What was there to be confused about? Surely even a human must understand his reasoning for keeping a mating and courting process private? Even though, if he recalled correctly (and Spock was rarely wrong when it came to questions of memory) some humans felt the need to talk about being courted, discuss it at length and babble about their chosen one. He had had the impression that it was mostly something the females did, however. Or was it possible that Jim was simply so happy about it all that he wanted the whole ship to know?

"Is this something you wish to discuss at length in public? In that case, may I suggest talking with Lt Uhura? She has more experience than I on the matter, and a discussion like this would be more beneficial for you. However, I would request you do not talk about this with Doctor McCoy, for he would surely disapprove."

"Oo-kay, Spock, whatever you say," Jim answered slowly. "As for the dinner, sure, come and join us. The more, the merrier, right?"

~l~

"You know, this is really-" Jim started to say, grinning broadly, when Spock interrupted him.

"-quite fascinating, Doctor McCoy." And then went back to eating his orange whatsit. Some sort of soup or other. Jim thought it looked weird, but hey, whatever Spock needed to stay happy. Or as happy as a Vulcan could be, anyway. He was surprised that Spock, too, found the subject interesting. "Human mating habits", as he called it, rarely got more than a lifted eyebrow from him. Again, Jim wondered what had possessed him to invite Spock to join him and Bones for dinner. Had he not gotten enough rejection these days? And what was that matter the Vulcan kept referring to? It had sounded like something that should not be discussed in front of the crew, thus, Jim had respected Spock's wish, but... that Spock had all but invited him back to his quarters was a mite confusing. What the hell was the Vulcan playing at? What had he done wrong _now_?!

"Really?" Bones seemed as surprised about the First Officer's interest as Jim. Spock lifted an eyebrow, and Jim wondered how he made that movement look so sexy.

"Indeed," he answered smoothly. Jim knew that he could listen to Spock all day, going on about science and one experiment or another, but sooner or later, the Vulcan would wonder why Jim was staring at him or reprimand him for something with that sharp tongue of his and he would feel like hell. Thinking about Spock's tongue, Jim wondered what he could do with it. Kiss, certainly, when Uhura was to be believed, and some of the rumors that ran amok on his ship were absolutely delicious. 

"And then she -Jim, are you even listening?" Bones interrupted, and Jim's eyes snapped up from the enticing flicker of green tinged tongue he had seen wrap around the spoon. He wanted to be that spoon...

"I'm sorry, Bones, I was just -"

"-daydreaming," Spock finished. Jim blinked and stared at him, half expecting a reprimand for not paying attention or something like that, but his First Officer just calmly continued to sip his soup. Bones lifted an eyebrow at Jim, who could only shrug. What the hell was Spock up to? Vulcans were usually extremely polite, and it was unlike Spock to interrupt someone. Jim's nerves were already stretched taut, he didn't want to have to deal with a sick Vulcan too.

"Something wrong, Spock?" Jimasked, maybe a tad impolite. The Vulcan put his spoon down next to his plate before answering, "I am unsure as to what you refer, Jim." And now he was calling him Jim. Sure, he had requested it countless times, but that Spock chose today of all days to listen... Something must be bothering him.

"Well, it's just unlike you to take interest in Bones' love life."

"I assure you the Doctor's amorous adventures are of no importance to me. In fact, I would prefer if he did not feel the urge to share them with anybody else. However, I have done research on the matter and gathered that it is important for a human male's self-esteem to "boast"."

"Rrright," Bones drawled. "You sure you didn't hit your head or inhaled anything poisonous down in the labs?"

"Just ignore Bones, he's-"

"-kidding, I am aware. But as the other humans in my department have not shown any symptoms, it should be possible even for someone of limited interests such as Doctor McCoy to deduce that I have not inhaled any substances, poisonous or otherwise." There he went again, completing Jim's sentence. It was downright creepy. That, and it was annoying. Jim wished Spock wouldn't have chosen today of all days to be irritating. The way Spock had kept glancing at him during shift made him feel on edge, like he constantly had to watch his back, to make sure he didn't make any mistake or Spock would snap at him again. Jim _hated_ it.

"Are you reading-"

"-your mind? No, Jim, as you are well aware I am only capable of doing so if we were to touch, and then I would shield or, alternately, ask for permission first." Jim was by now openly staring at Spock.

"You know what?" he asked finally, feeling tired, "why don't we all-"

"-go to bed and sleep. Yes, Jim, I find I agree with you. The Doctor's presence proves to be tiring, and I find myself unwilling to-"

"A word, Officer Spock," Jim ordered. He'd had it right about now, and he wanted answers. Did Spock not even trust him to speak his mind anymore? What was _wrong_ with him? Why did the bloody Vulcan insist on making his life miserable? Jim was reasonably sure he was not that bad a captain that Spock didn't even think him capable of expressing his own thoughts. But the constant nagging ate away at his self-esteem, and he questioned even his most basic decisions. Jim was tired, and he was pissed. To top it off, Spock had been pretty mean these last days. Kirk needed answers, preferably before his head exploded. "We're going to my quarters."

He turned and left, thus missing the triumphant glint in Spock's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love alliterations^^ Weeeeee~!

**Author's Note:**

> So, apparently I have this thing about Spock trying to court Jim and failing miserably.


End file.
